


Easy as A-B-C

by illfoandillfie



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: (m and f receiving), F/M, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, dom!reader, himbo gwilym, professor gwilym, sub!gwil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illfoandillfie/pseuds/illfoandillfie
Summary: Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.
Relationships: Gwilym Lee/Reader
Kudos: 5





	Easy as A-B-C

**Author's Note:**

> This was massively inspired by dracoladon and her Drarry fic Lucid (fuck dumb draco is hhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without the hypnosis play that my Future Management series includes. So then I got talking to someone else on tumblr and mentioned my idea and she suggested Gwil would be fun to write about so here we are. Sex drunk Professor Gwil. Whats not to love.

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded.  
“No, I don’t think so,”  
“Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch.   
“I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck.   
“Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,”  
His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,”   
“Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,”  
He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,”  
“Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?”  
“I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their _attempts_ at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ”  
“I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,”   
“Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort.   
“Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,”  
“Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?”  
“Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,”  
“You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.”   
“I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.”  
Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?”  
You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong.   
“No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong.   
“Try allusion for me,”  
“A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,”  
Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed.  
Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing.  
“What about caesura?”  
“C-E-A-S-U-R-A,”  
The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants.  
“But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres.   
You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,”  
It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,”  
He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.”  
His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more.   
If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so.  
“O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out.   
“Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick.  
His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing.   
“What about, dactyl?”  
His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,”  
You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him.  
“Fuck,”  
“Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,”  
“I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,”  
You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,”  
Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention.   
“Romanticism,”  
Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours.   
“So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment”  
“Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,”  
You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?”  
“Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?”  
“Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting.   
“D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.”  
You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you.   
“Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock.   
“What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip.  
“Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower.  
“I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?”  
In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest.   
Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still.  
Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely.  
“Well?”  
“What did you say?”  
“Epigraph. Can you spell that?”  
He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.”  
You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second.  
“No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips.  
“Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,”  
Gwilym nodded.  
“Okay, so spell meter,”  
“M- oh, I don’t know,”  
“You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,”  
He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,”  
“See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!”  
Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand.  
“Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?”  
He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,”  
“Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,”  
“Okay!”  
“Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,”  
“Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes.  
“It’s a bit of a tricky one,”  
“Yeah.”  
“And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?”  
“Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,”  
“So clever baby! Okay canto,”  
“Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,”  
“No?”  
He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.  
“Okay what about, poem?”  
Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.”  
“You sure you don’t know?”  
He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again.  
“Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,”  
Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help.  
“You don’t remember?”  
He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.”  
“It’s okay if you don’t know,”  
“Really?” he sniffled.  
“Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.”  
“I’m not?”  
“Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.”  
Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again.  
“Do you want to give it a try for me?”  
“Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes  
“It would make me very happy,”  
“Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?”  
“You’re so clever, baby!”  
Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock.  
“You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?”  
“Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him.   
“Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?”  
He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,”  
It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly.  
“You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?”  
“Mmhmm, you-porik.”  
“Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?”  
“How?”  
“With your mouth,”  
“Oh! Okay!”  
You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor.   
“You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder.   
He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts.   
If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure.   
“Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?”  
“Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly.  
“And how do you think you could do that?”  
“I don’t know,”  
“Maybe, cunnilingus?”  
“cun-un-un-un-gus,”  
“Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.   
“Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?”  
Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you.   
“Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,”  
“Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine.   
You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you.   
“I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt.   
“loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface.   
Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been.   
“Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone.   
“Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense.   
“Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow.  
“Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?”  
“Not needing to think, baby,”  
“Oh! Yes,” he laughed.   
“You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,”  
“Mmhmm, much,”  
“And do you know what good, dumb boys get?”  
“No?”  
“They get fucked. Would you like that?”  
“Yes yes yes,”  
“Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke.  
Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm.  
“No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,”  
He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again.  
You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back.   
“Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again.   
“Wha’s Byron?”  
You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test.   
He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.   
“Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,”  
“My dex-ik-tus cock?”  
You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt.   
“Wanna make me feel even better?”  
“How?”  
You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him.   
“You’re close?”  
“Mmhmm,”  
You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop.   
“I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?”  
He nodded, eyes fixed on you.  
“Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close.  
“Almost baby, almost,”  
“Please. Hur’s,”  
“Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him.  
He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose.   
“Did so well, such a good boy for me,”  
“Yeah?”  
“Mmhmm, so good,”  
He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech.  
“How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy.   
“Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,”  
“I believe you.”


End file.
